Lily A. Long

“ Lyon felt as though he were trying to pick his way among live wires.
"Did you tell Olden this story?" he asked, remembering the curious interest which that inquisitive person had always seemed to take in Lawrence's affairs.
"Well, he got it out of me, I guess. He knew so much that he could easily pump the balance."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing much. He kept nodding his head, as though he knew it all beforehand. What do you make of it, anyhow?"
"The curiosity of an idle mind," said Lyon, lightly. "There are plenty of people who have an abnormal curiosity about anybody who is accused of crime. ”

“ Lyon knew the brooding type. If, for instance, she loved Lawrence, and if she felt that Fullerton stood between them, and particularly if she had any cause for bitterness against Fullerton which would make her feel that in slaying him she was an instrument of justice,--well, tragedies were happening every day that were no more difficult of belief. She was not an ordinary woman; and when a woman breaks through the lines of convention she will go farther than a man. She had had a grudge against Fullerton, she had prayed for his death, she had been on the spot when he was killed. ”

“ There is no game so trying to the nerves as a waiting game. Lyon was cool by temperament and self-controlled from experience, but he found it necessary to call on both his native and acquired composure to enable him to face the situation without wanting to do something, anything, to force Fate's hand. To wait, just to sit still and wait for Mrs. Broughton to recover, while all the time Lawrence was drawing nearer and nearer to the day that would blast his career even if he escaped with his life,--it was nerve-racking. ”

“ Miss Wolcott regarded him for a moment with an observant scrutiny which she made no attempt to disguise, and then she turned to her grandfather.
"It is time for your walk, Dandy," she said. She got him his overcoat, hat, and stick from the hall, and herself buttoned his coat up to his throat.
"You see how she spoils me," Mr. Wolcott said, with evident pride in his voice. "I'm old enough to look out for myself."
Edith did not speak. In grave silence she gave him his gloves, and watched him put them on while Lyon as intently watched her. ”

“ Whether she struck the blow herself or not, it was clear that her connection with the affair was intimate. If she was the woman Donohue had seen in Fullerton's company when they left the Wellington together, it would seem that she had been agitated to the point of sobbing aloud as she walked beside him. Any emotion that could reduce Miss Wolcott to sobs must have been powerful. All this Lawrence knew as well as Lyon, but it was conceivable that he knew more. Had he been a witness of the murder, if not an actor in it? How had his cane come to be on the spot unless he had been there himself? ”

“ Lyon took his position on the rug and studied the various pieces of furniture which lay in unobstructed lines from that point. There was a small table against the wall, and on it a circular pipe tray with an array of pipes. Above it, fastened against the wall at a height which a man could reach only if standing, was a small Chinese cabinet, carved in the semblance of a dragon, and gleaming with scarlet and gold. Like the serpent-marked note paper, it bore witness to Fullerton's fantastic taste. ”

“ Never think it, my boy! There is nothing in all the universe so heaven-wide and free as this room. I know now how a man feels when his reprieve comes."
"But your reprieve hasn't come yet," said Lyon quietly. "That is exactly the point. Do you see any way yet in which I can help it to come?"
Lawrence looked at him silently, smilingly, and shook his head.
"Then it makes no difference in your attitude," pursued Lyon, "that Mrs. Broughton--and not anyone else--is shown to be the woman who was with Fullerton that evening?"
"It makes no difference," said Lawrence, quietly. ”

“ You must have been the first man there. I was close behind you, I think. I was not far behind you when you came down Hemlock Avenue."
Then suddenly Lyon understood. It was quite as though Lawrence had said, "I hope you will not consider it necessary to mention that a minute or two after the time of the murder you saw a woman running in terror from the spot and going into a house where I call." He had quite forgotten the running girl for the moment. Now the sudden bringing together of the two ideas staggered him.
"There are things that once said can never be unsaid," said Lawrence. ”

“ Olden had shown no signs of physical feebleness, yet Lyon felt a hurt about him that prompted him to a show of cheerfulness beyond his habit with a stranger, and the success of his curtain code had put him into an elated mood.
"What do people generally gossip about?"
"Their friends, don't they? And their enemies; and the delinquencies of both."
"That's all right," said Olden, quickly. "Tell me about your friends and their delinquencies."
"I haven't many here. I'm a stranger myself, comparatively. The man in Waynscott I care most for, and admire most, and am sorriest for, is Arthur Lawrence." ”

“ Lyon got away from him and went up to the little back bedroom which had come to seem so homelike in the short week he had been there. Kittie's curtains were both down--of course. Her faithfulness to their code even to this disastrous end struck him as pathetic.
"Dear little girl," he murmured, and blew a kiss across the night to her. One can venture so much more in the night than in the unsympathetic blaze of common day. ”

“ But Lawrence isn't that kind of a man."
Olden had dropped back in his chair and his momentary outburst had given place to a sullen gloom that Lyon guessed had more relation to his own thoughts and to the story he had told so impersonally the other evening than it had to their present conversation. There was something pathetic in the mood he showed,--a strong man bound into helplessness by the Liliputian cords of emotion. When a young man had to have it out with his own heart, it was a fair and square fight, with no odds. But at Olden's age, the thing was not decent to look upon. ”

“ Lawrence walked back and forth thoughtfully. Then he stopped again before Lyon.
"It would make no difference," he said. Then with a smile he placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Believe me, Lyon, I appreciate your interest and your earnestness, but--beware of letting it carry you too far. There are times, you know, when the best service a friend can render is simply to keep hands off. If you start in with an idea of proving things you may possibly--prove too much! There are matters that simply must not be brought into question." He shook Lyon in friendly roughness and let him go. ”

“ He felt that he must probe it, and so he answered with a view to keeping the subject going.
"We hear of the mysteries that are solved, but there are many more that drop from the notice of the public because they remain mysteries forever."
"Is it not possible that there may be a woman connected with the mystery?" asked Olden with a sudden hardening of his voice.
Lyon smoked deliberately a moment.
"With nothing known and everything to guess, it is difficult to say of anything that it is not possible," he answered.
"Has Lawrence's name never been connected with a woman? Is there no gossip?" ”

“ A huge bunch of long-stemmed roses, still in the florist's box, was filling the cell with color and fragrance.
"Who sent them?" asked Lyon suspiciously.
"Devil a card or a scrap of writing with them."
"Oh, then it's merely because you have become a celebrity," said Lyon, indifferently. "Silly women are always sending flowers to the principals in any murder case."
"Bad luck to you, you're jealous," cried Lawrence. ”

“ The little light he had gained only made the darkness more visible. If Lawrence had indeed struck the fatal blow, how had it come about? Had he encountered Fullerton and Miss Wolcott together, and had there been a sudden quarrel with this unexpected termination? Then Miss Wolcott was the sole witness, and Lawrence's injunction to silence was easy enough to understand. That was of course the most obvious explanation, though on that theory it was hard to understand Lawrence's amazement when his cane had been produced at the inquest. ”

“ Lyon, in the absence of any closer acquaintance, had searched the unconscious man's pockets for a clue to his identity, and in an inner pocket he found an old note-book with the name "William H. Vanderburg" written on the fly-leaf. The name had suggested nothing to his mind at the moment, and while he was looking further for an address, the man's eyes had opened slowly and taken the situation in with full intelligence. ”

“ Broughton went in, and Edith Wolcott, with a warning finger on her lip, drew Lyon across the hall into the little sitting room where they had talked earlier in the evening.
"They are happy," she said, with a catch in her voice. "All has come out well for them. But if she stays in Waynscott, will she not be called as a witness? And if she tells that story of Arthur's anger with Fullerton will it not go against him on the trial?" ”

“ He was taken into the lawyer's private office, where he found Howell with his hands behind his back, staring moodily through the window into a dingy court, instead of deep in his books as a lawyer is supposed to be. There was exasperation and protest in every line of his figure. He turned to nod to Lyon without relaxing his gloom.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Lyon. Sit down. I asked you to call in connection with this case of Lawrence's."
"Yes."
"Have you any influence with him?"
"I doubt it," said Lyon, with a smile. "I don't think that he allows many men to exert an influence upon him." ”

“ Here was the large square writing table in the middle of the room, and there, to the right of it on the floor, was the rug Hunt had spoken of, where the letters lay. Lyon sat down before the table and studied the arrangement quietly. A man sitting here could toss the letters to the rug easily with a careless flip of his right hand, but a letter would not of itself fall from the table to the rug. Even if blown from the table by a strong gust from the open window,--an idea that he had had in his mind as a possibility,--it would not be apt to fall upon the rug. ”

“ In spite of the quarrel in the morning with its proof of Lawrence's temper and Fullerton's self-control, in spite of the damning fact that Lawrence's cane, broken and hidden, would appear to be the instrument with which the fatal blow was struck, in spite of the curious fact that Lawrence had held his peace when he must have recognized the dead man, Lyon found himself inwardly committed to the faith that Lawrence was not directly involved. ”

“ Lyon held his breath in suspense, but it is not in masculine nature to thrust away a beautiful sobbing woman. Broughton's arms lifted to enclose her, and his voice murmured, not ungently: "There, there, Grace! Control yourself!"
Lyon turned to Miss Wolcott, trying to leave the reunited husband and wife in as much privacy as the situation admitted. ”

“ Lawrence is a wonder," said Olden, drily. "I hope to meet him some day. Let us drink to his release and to the confusion of the Grand Jury. A man who can keep himself free from all feminine entanglements ought to get out of a little thing like an accusation for murder without any difficulty."
"You seem to have strong feelings on the subject," said Lyon. It occurred to him that all the drawing-out need not be on Olden's side. Olden smoked a minute in silence, and then asked abruptly,
"Do you believe that women as a class have any sense of truth?" ”

“ As he approached the Select School on Locust Avenue, he noticed a doctor's runabout fastened before the door, and, as he came up, a young physician whom he knew well. Dr. Barry, came down the steps. Lyon had often found it useful to assume a curiosity when he had it not, and he at once seized his opportunity.
"How is your patient?" he asked with an assured air.
"What do you know about my patient?" Barry asked in obvious surprise.
Lyon in fact knew so little that he deemed it advisable to answer this question with another.
"Will she be able to see me?"
"You newspaper men beat the devil! ”

“ There is a Boston terrier up in our neighborhood that is a fighter. I don't like fighting dogs myself,--and this one is a terror. He is always pitching on to some poor little fellow that isn't big enough to stand up to him, and doesn't have a chance to run. I broke my cane over him."
"Indeed?" murmured Lyon, with polite indifference. Then the echo of the words rang through the silence of his mind,--louder and louder, until he pulled up with a start, as though some one had been calling to him for a long time and he had just become conscious of it. "You broke your cane over him?" ”